


Only If For a Night

by avianbrother



Series: What We Want, What We Deserve [1]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Depressed Dante needs more love, F/M, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Takes place sometime post-DMC1 and the anime, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, mild scent kink, shy reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25413394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avianbrother/pseuds/avianbrother
Summary: It’s a quiet night in the diner and you came to treat yourself to some quality desserts and milkshakes after a long day at work, not stare at strange men. Even if they’re hot. And look like they could screw you into a mattress.
Relationships: Dante (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Series: What We Want, What We Deserve [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012884
Comments: 16
Kudos: 236





	Only If For a Night

It’s not polite to stare, you remind yourself. Still, you can’t stop from stealing glances at the guy a couple seats down from you at the counter. He’s tall and leanly muscled, with a strong jawline and sharp features that could cut diamonds. His hair is a pretty silver white that you feel the urge to grab. Dressed head to toe in red and black leather, his whole figure screams danger. And he’s eating a strawberry sundae.

You’re not that kind of girl, you remind yourself. It’s a quiet night in the diner and you came to treat yourself to some quality desserts and milkshakes after a long day at work, not stare at strange men. Even if they’re hot. And look like they could screw you into a mattress. If this were a cheap dive, you would order him a drink and hope he’d be nice enough to return the favor. But it’s not, so you don’t.

Dante can feel the oogling, the focused attention of prying eyes digging into him. He’s used to it, and he brushes it off easily. But it doesn’t stop. _And it doesn’t stop_. He chances a look your way and you gasp, too quiet for a human to hear, and look away when he catches you. Pride stirs in his chest and he smiles softly to himself. Not often he makes girls flustered these days. Usually they just come to nag him about one thing or another. When he’s certain your attention is elsewhere, he spares a second glance. You’ve got a cute face, he thinks, and the rest of you is just as nice. Soft around the edges. A blush colors your cheeks and you seem intensely focused on the pie and shake in front of you. Ah, a bit skittish. What a shame.

Beneath the scent of sugar though, he notices something, an acrid smell. It takes a second for his brain to piece together what it is, but the scent of arousal and fuck-me pheromones rolling off you is unmistakable. Intense, too. Now that he thinks about it, you’re squirming an awful lot in your chair. Huh.

He’s looking at you. He’s _looking_ at you. You muster up the courage and look his way, and he’s staring unabashedly. He holds your gaze, head tilting in thought. There’s whipped cream and strawberry sauce at the corner of his mouth. His tongue glides out to lap it away, and you know he’s doing it on purpose, making absolutely sure you’re watching. Such a simple thing and he makes it seem so sinful.

Dante’s little plan works judging by how your face turns even more red. You’re giving him eyes that remind him of a lost puppy or kitten—sweet and not at all like how the girls at Love Planet would look at him like they’d eat him alive. It rouses the demon in him, the part that wants to play and indulge.

Hot stranger is interested in you. Cool. Great. Now what? The first thing that comes to mind is closing the meagre gap. You pat the stool next to yours and raise an inquisitive brow. He smiles, popping his spoon in his mouth and moving to sit by you, half-finished sundae in hand. This close you can tell he smells like leather, gunpowder, and something else. Cinnamon, maybe. He’s warm too, like a furnace. With a flourish, he pops out the spoon and takes another scoop.

“So, come here often?” he asks before lewdly gulping down ice cream. It’s a terrible, cliché opener that nevertheless eases your nerves, draws a chuckle from you as you watch him lick his lips. The hard expression he wore earlier had softened considerably, making him even more attractive, if that was possible.

“Yeah, a lot actually,” you reply. “This place has good comfort food. Helps after a busy day, y’know?”

He nods. Hot pizza or fresh strawberries did wonders for his mood, more than booze ever did. But he shakes off that line of thought and focuses on you. “Food is nice, but I can think of better ways to unwind.”

A shiver runs up your spine. You poke idly at chunks of crust with your fork. “Oh, like what?”

Now you were just playing coy. He didn’t mind though; he could play right along. “I know a few tricks. I’d have to show you, though.”

He knew he was laying it on thick. He couldn’t help it, not when he was struggling to remember the last time he got so many signals from a girl and she didn’t shoot her shot. Most girls slapped him before he got to this point or skipped the foreplay and went right to telling him what they wanted from him. Maybe just this once, luck was on his side.

You swallow thickly. At the back of your mind is the lingering thought that this was a bad idea. Good girls don’t do this. Good girls don’t hook up with strange men they just met. This is how you end up dead. But you don’t care. Because you’ve never been so interested in someone before and you’ve never _wanted_ like this in your entire life. And you want nothing more than for him to pin you down and make you scream. You muster up every ounce of courage you have.

For a moment, you don’t respond, and Dante worries that maybe he’d gotten his hopes up, that perhaps he’d come on too strongly or—

A gentle hand squeezes his arm, and you’re looking up at him with those pretty eyes. “Could you?” you ask shyly. “Could you show me?”

The scent of your arousal hits him so strongly it makes him dizzy. When he regains his senses, he lets out a husky, “Hell yeah.”

He tells the waitress behind the counter to put it on his tab, and you quickly toss her money for your food before he takes you by the hand and leads you outside to a motorcycle. He helps you get seated behind him.

“Got a preference?” he asks.

“Huh?”

“Your place or mine.”

Your mind is so scrambled and edged with excitement you don’t think you could give directions. And right now you just want the quickest route to a bed for him to take you on. “Uh, y-yours. Yours is good.”

“My place it is. Hold on tight.” That’s all the warning he gives before he revs up and speeds down the street.

You latch on with a yelp, arms winding around his waist like your life depends on it. For the first few minutes you clench your eyes shut and tuck your face against his back to shield it from the wind. After a while you get used to it, and you contemplate how oddly comforting he feels, how _safe_.

You’re still clinging to him, but he can tell you’re starting to enjoy the ride, starting to ease against him instead of being so stiff. The press of your bodies feels so fucking _good_ he’s half-tempted to pull over and take you behind an alley, but he doesn’t. He wants to reward you for your softness and patience and find comfort in your body somewhere inviting away from prying eyes. But maybe he swerves over a bump or two just to startle you, just to make you cling a little tighter.

When he finally stops it’s in front of a plain brick building with a glowing red sign that reads “Devil May Cry.” You’ve passed by before, never thought much about what it was. Now you think that if this goes well, you might just stop by for a visit. He hops off and you follow him in.

Dante locks the door and flicks off the sign for good measure; he doesn’t wanna be bugged tonight. He sweeps you into a bridal carry, giving you a wink as you giggle and throw your arms around his neck. He brings you upstairs to his room, kicking the door shut behind him, then gently sets you down. There’s a brief pause then all the tension snaps and he’s pressing you against the door, mouth slotting with yours in a heated, sloppy kiss.

It’s all tangling tongues and quick pecks; he kisses you like he’s scared you’ll disappear and each time he’s trying to snatch one more before you go. It’s hot and gets your blood pumping but it’s not what you want; you find yourself cursing how damn tall he is as he makes you crane your head and stand on tiptoes to reach him. With a noise of frustration, you grab him by the hair, fisting those gorgeous locks, and force him down to your level. He braces his hands on the door and leans down to reach you, a crooked smile on his lips. This time you guide him into it, biting his bottom lip and sucking before you slide your tongue into his mouth. He still tastes like strawberries and whipped cream. He must have gotten the hint because he takes it slowly now, exploring your mouth and dancing your tongues together.

Nipping your lip in return, he grabs you by the hips and presses his leg between yours. Already his cock is hard and throbbing—you can feel it twitch desperately against you. Fumbling a little, you undo his belt and pants and pull out his cock.

 _Oh_.

He’s _big_. Long and girthy with a fat head and prominent veins. You’re not sure if he’ll fit but you hope he will. You’d die if you came all this way and he couldn’t fuck you properly.

The wide-eyed look has him worried until it shifts to something like determination. You wrap a hand around his dick, and he exhales shakily as you start stroking him. Your hand looks so small in comparison; it’d probably take two to encircle him completely. For a second he thought you were gonna turn tail, yet here you are handling him like a champ. Your fingers glide over the slit and smear pre along his shaft. He shifts his stance to give you a better angle, practically throbbing in your grasp when you twist your wrist just right. “ _Shit_ —just like that,” he rasps.

Bucking into your touch, it’s like nothing he’s ever imagined after being stuck with his own hands for so long. Every now and then you glance up at him, searching for what it takes to make his knees weak. But he catches a whiff of you and remembers there’s a lot more to do before he can be inside your tight heat. As much as he hates it, he gently pulls your hands away from his cock and leads you to his bed, shoving you back onto the covers.

He kneels between your spread legs, massaging your thighs and squeezing handfuls of your ass. You know what he wants without having to ask, and quickly push your pants around your knees and try to kick them off. He helps you with your shoes, tossing them somewhere into the chaos of his room, then your bottoms and panties. Dragging your ass to hang over the edge, he throws your legs over his shoulders. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you swear for a second his eyes shine like a cat’s in the dark.

Then he dives in, tearing a cry from you as he laps and sucks your clit, your inner folds, anywhere he can fucking reach. When he mouths at your nub, it sends electric jolts up your spine. You’re so wound up he has no trouble sliding a finger inside you, finding your g-spot like he has a map of your body. He quickly adds a second, leisurely pumping while he flicks his tongue in circles around your clit. The dual sensations make you lose your mind, not sure whether to grind against his face or shove him away as you grab him by the hair. All you can do is lay there and let out breathless, broken cries of no, yes, more, _too much_. At some point he switches it up and glides tortuously slow over your nub while he fingerfucks you. Throughout it all he never stops, never even comes up for air. He eats you out like a starving man and it’s like nothing you’ve ever experienced.

Dante doesn’t look up, too intently focused on his task, but the sounds you make are music to his ears and go right to his dick. The taste of you and the way you claw at his scalp makes his demon howl. That’s right princess—tear him, claw him, take what you fucking want, he’ll give it till you can’t handle any more. He wants your legs to give, wants to feel the hot press of your thighs as they squeeze his skull when you cum, hear you scream yourself raw. Even if it’s only for a night, he wants all the shit he’s been denying himself and kept bottled up. When he feels your legs start to shake and your insides clench around his digits, he knows you’re close, so he dials his efforts up to eleven.

That coil is tightening in your gut and you press him closer in desperation, rocking your hips in an attempt to take him deeper. He doesn’t stop— _he doesn’t stop_. Everything winds tighter until it _snaps_ and you fall over the edge, toes curling and nails digging into him as you moan long and loud. He keeps fingering you through it until tears form in the corners of your eyes and you weakly try to push him away.

“N-no more,” you whine. Finally he rises, grinning with satisfaction and licking your slick from his lips.

“Thanks for the meal,” he says.

Damn, he didn’t peg you for a squirter—not that he’s complaining. You’re dazed and panting hard, still winding down from your climax, so he takes the time to strip while you recover. His head is a bit clearer now and he’s wondering how he wants you, if you’ll be able to handle him. You prop yourself on your elbows to watch him with those pretty doe eyes, smiling when he kicks his clothes into a pile with yours.

“What’s your name?” you ask suddenly.

The question startles him. For a heartbeat he’s tempted to lie or say it’s not important, but god, you’re so fucking sweet and it’s hard to say no when you’re splayed out like that, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. And, well, maybe he has a soft spot for the shy, quiet types (though you certainly weren’t quiet a moment ago).

“Dante. What’s yours?”

You tell him and he smiles softly. He climbs onto the bed and you scoot back to make room. With shaky hands, you remove your shirt and bra, tossing them aside. He gazes appreciatively, cupping your breasts and peppering them with kisses. You sigh, letting him shower them with affection for a smidge longer before you lay back and get comfy. He leans over to rifle through his bedside table for a condom, quickly rolling it onto his dick. As he probes your entrance, you press a hand to his chest.

“Wait.”

“What’s wrong?” He hopes you’re not having second thoughts.

You look away. “I was wondering if…maybe I could be on top?”

“Oh.” He blinks, heat rising in his cheeks. “Sure, that’s fine.”

After swapping places, you carefully lower yourself onto his cock. He’s big, and just like you thought there’s a slight burning stretch as the head enters you. Taking an inch at a time, you slowly let him fill you. Dante, to his credit, is patient. He grips your hips and bites his lip but doesn’t try to force you down. Eventually he’s fully sheathed inside you. God, it’s a tight fit but it feels amazing being absolutely _stuffed_. You don’t move just yet, letting your body grow accustomed to his length. Once you think you’re ready, you roll your hips and—

 _Holy fuck_.

If you thought his hands were good, his dick is even better. You put your hands on his chest and start bouncing, rolling your hips and working into a rhythm. He hits all the right spots better than any toy or lover you’ve ever had. You’re glad you did this, even if he’s going to ruin all other men for you. You don’t care, because right now the only thing on your mind is riding him.

You might’ve had the right idea, he thinks when you get going. You’re tight and hot and he’s content to let you use him for your pleasure. With each rocking motion, your tits bounce; he’s caught between watching them, watching your face, watching where the two of you are joined. He bucks up to meet you and that lights a fire in your eyes. You ride him like you’re queen of the rodeo, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. His eyes flutter shut and his head tips back as he lets out open-mouthed gasps and grunts, doing his best to follow your lead.

He looks beautiful—he’s absolutely gorgeous. The expanse of his neck, his bared throat, are right there and you just wanna bite him and mark him with hickeys, some reminder of this moment. So you lean forward, rising off his cock till it almost slips out ‘cause he’s so damn _tall_ , and nibble at his collarbone. You gaze pleadingly up at him, and one eye opens to see what you’re up to. He smiles, winds a hand through your hair and tilts his head to one side in a wordless answer. You’re gentle until you’re not, biting and sucking the delicate flesh while he sucks in breaths and rolls his hips, begging for you to envelope him in your warmth again. Once your mouth is tired, you go back to pleasing him and you both.

It’s a shame the marks won’t last, he thinks. But he enjoys the sentiment. He can feel your walls clench like you’re going to cum soon, but your pace starts to slow, your legs getting tired and he sees it in the way your brows furrow in concentration, like you’re trying to hold out just a little longer. He’s not having any of that.

“Hands and knees,” he commands.

His tone is one that brokers no argument, prompting you to obey. You glance over your shoulder, concern on your lips but he cuts you off with a slap to the ass. You cry out, and he apologizes with a kiss to your shoulder. Then he grips your hips, lines himself up, and buries his cock to the hilt. Like this he can control the speed, pull you back onto his cock and hit deep with every thrust. You’d say he’s chasing his own pleasure, but it feels so damn good and you’re making shameless sounds like the little slut you are.

“Ahhh~ f-fuck! Dante!”

He pounds you with frightening intensity. From out of nowhere your climax builds and suddenly you’re screaming and fisting the sheets with a white-knuckle grip. He fucks you through it, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder how the fuck he has such stamina. Juices trail down your leg and you’re almost embarrassed by the squelching coming from you.

You’re shaking, about to give out, but he hasn’t found his release. He slows, pressing between your shoulders to nudge you down. Hastily he grabs a pillow and shoves it under your hips before settling on top of you, pinning you with his bulk. He nuzzles your hair, trails soft kisses down your neck.

“Nearly there, babe. Think you can hold out a little longer?”

You’re drooling into the sheets, but you manage a nod. “Uh-huh~.”

His pace is slower, more of a grind, yet the angle presses against your sweet spot and kisses your womb each time he bottoms out. It has you whimpering, pressing back against him despite how sensitive you are.

“Don’t stop,” you beg, tears in your eyes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The position is much more intimate; you can feel each huffing breath he takes and hear him growl lowly in your ear. One arm wraps around you while another hand comes to lay atop one of yours. His fingers lace with yours and squeeze lovingly, and you squeeze back as best you can in spite of how he engulfs you.

Your insides clamp on him like they don’t want him to leave. Each push-pull drag of his cock is heaven. The darker, indulgent part of him wants nothing more than to breed you, stuff you with his seed and give you a reason to stay. But you deserve better. So he settles for savoring the closeness while he can and grinding as deep as he can go, his own release fast approaching.

When he starts to shake, that’s how you know. His thrusts get faster, a little shallower as he chases that peak. He holds you tighter and the growl of his voice gets rough, needy. He lets go of your hand and snakes down to rub your clit, trying to get you to milk him. It works; he manages to make you cum, weakly spasm around his cock. His final thrust hits your cervix and presses painfully as he finishes, twitching ever so nicely with each spurt.

He threads his fingers through your hair and kisses you, warm and affectionate. You gasp when he slides out, leaving you empty. He takes off the condom, ties it off, and chucks it at a trashbin. It plaps on the floor just outside its destination. Oh well. He’ll deal with it later.

Everything below the waist aches in a pleasant sort of way. You don’t want to move, though you roll onto your back and wipe your hair from your face. Dante has sprawled beside you, obviously satisfied and basking in post-coital bliss. Now that the heated moment has passed, you’re not sure what to do. Flings and one-night stands haven’t been a thing for you until tonight.

Dante can sense the anxiety rolling off you, and it worries him. He watches you sit up, and he can’t stop himself from reaching out. You’re not angry or hurt, just…confused, he thinks. Conflicted maybe. That shyness has reared its head again, spoiling your enjoyment, making you look at him with that sad puppy face that makes his heart ache.

“You leaving?” he asks, trying to keep his tone neutral like he doesn’t care which way you choose.

You bite your lip, glancing away, then back at him. “Should I?”

You don’t say you don’t want to leave. You don’t have to—it’s plain as day on your face and Dante is _glad_.

He shifts, gets under the covers and holds them up in invitation. Smiling, you join him. He’s glad to see you’re a cuddler, nestling against him like there’s nowhere in the world you’d rather be. He sighs and gets comfy, draping an arm over you. It’s nice and he settles to the sound of you drifting off to sleep. He closes his eyes and pretends that it can always be like this. Only if for a night, he pretends. Eventually he falls asleep too, his heart less empty than before.


End file.
